Choices
by Forge2
Summary: As Illyria stands alone in the alley with the others dead around her, she prepares to die with honor. However, in her last moments, a strange little man comes to her with a choice. X-Over w Doctor Who
1. Choices

Choices

As if moved by her grief, the heavens themselves let loose a torrent of tears. Angry and bitter, the rain fell in buckets to drench the battlefield. The cement was slick with blood and water. Among the broken corpses of a hundred thousand demons stood Illyria. She was bruised and beaten but still alive. She could kill a thousand demons but there were a hundred thousand more, marching over the bodies of their fallen comrades. She had not thought to end like this. In an alley fighting a half-breed's battle. Here, slaughtered by the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart? That would have been laughable once.

A demon raised its sword high above its head and roared. Its arm stopped in mid movement and its roar in mid growl. Illyria tilted her head and peered at the army all frozen in their tracks. Even in her days of glory she couldn't stop time. Alter it, but not stop it. Her senses tingled. Someone else was there. She spun around angrily. He was standing in the corner, a short man with an umbrella. He tipped his hat. He looked human but Illyria knew better. She could see his life stretching back and forth across time without anchor.

"You are one of Rassilon's ilk," she said. It was almost an accusation.

"We call ourselves Time Lords."

"An arrogant name for an arrogant race. I walked the universes long before you wove your web of time. I am Illyria God-King…"

"of the earth, conqueror of this and that, etc, etc…I'm the Doctor by the way. We have a lot to talk about." He grinned.

The raindrops hung in the air, motionless. They were standing on a rooftop gazing down at LA. Cars were stopped on the highway. The entire city lay at their feet, like a photograph.

"Who sent you?" She asked.

"I sent myself."

"Do not play games with me. You do not have the power to stop the flow of time."

"Someone once said that time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. I once hitchhiked across half the galaxy with him. I think he was from somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse…"

"You seek to distract me with your prattling. It shall not work."

The Doctor smiled. "You're right of course. I can't stop time but I can, with great effort, take you out of it. We are standing by the river of time. After our little tit-a-tit, you can reenter and not a single moment will have passed."

"What do you want of me?" The words passed through her lips with disdain.

"Since your escape from the Well you have been floundering without purpose. You weaker than you were, not because of the shell, or the little ray gun, but because you haven't had a choice. I can give you that power back."

"How do you know so much of what has come to pass?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you. An escaped old one is not to be taken lightly."

"Were you there when he died?" There was anger in her voice, gathering to strike. The Doctor sighed and turned to meet her eyes.

"I could not save him. No one could. His story was meant to end there. If you play with fate too often…you get burned." Illyria looked into his eyes and saw a pain to rival her own, and something else, something familiar.

"I know who you are now," she said taking a step back. "You are the one who carved bones into chess pieces and chained Hastur the Unspeakable. Your aspect is changed but you are the one they call the Oncoming Storm. You speak of choices and lunchtime, but you have come to chain me anew."

"Illyria, if I wanted you destroyed, then I would have left you to the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. No, I need your help."

"You would have me do your biding, follow the orders of a lower creature? I would not so debase myself." She tilted her head proudly. He turned away from her, his eyes shadowed.

"It's a strange world isn't it? Filled with so many apes running about their silly little lives in ignorance. Every once in a while, I envy that ignorance, the complete lack of understanding of how the universe truly works. Your little gesture tonight was meaningless. Wolfram and Hart have endured greater setbacks on a hundred different worlds in a thousand different eras. I am giving you a chance to make some kind of mark. You were a God, but what are you now? If you go back to the alley, then you will never know. Now, I think you're special. I think someone with your talents could do great things. But all that really matters is what you think."

There was a long pause, that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Illyria gazed out at the still world, so different from the earth she had ruled. She thought of Westley, lying broken in the warlock's home.

At length, she spoke. "I will help you, Time Lord but not for the ignorant masses of this world. I will help for him."

The Doctor nodded, as if he had expected that. He turned and gave her a sympathetic smile, which rapidly became impish. He shook his umbrella open. "It looks like rain," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. Suddenly time returned to normal and Illyria was drenched. Illyria glared at him.

"Are you always this irritating?" She asked.

"It comes and goes…"

She had not expected there to be weeds on his grave and it angered her. These last few moments before dawn were the last she would spend on earth for many years to come. She reached out and traced the name slowly. Wesley Wyndam-Price, the stone read. Illyria represed her tears, she would not cry to see his grave abandoned. The Doctor had warned her. After a hundred years, graves do tend to be abandoned. Still, she was angry. The Doctor was standing a respectful distance away, absently playing with his umbrella handle. He glanced up at the sky.They were coming.

"It's time," he said. Illyria looked up and met his eyes.

"Do not presume to rush me, Time Lord."

"Dawn is breaking…alright, take your time. I'll be in the Tardis." Illyria heard the crunch of his feet on the ground, as he turned to leave. Then she was alone with Wes and together they welcomed the dawn.


	2. Husks

disclaimer: The Doctor belongs to the BBC and Illyria is Joss's. I just had fun with them. Please R&R. Thanks.

Husks

"It smells of carcasses and bones turned to dust," Illyria said. It had been a townhouse once, opening onto a busy street. Empty now. Ivy crawled up the walls, finding holes in the concrete and brick. Broken windows hung open inviting the grey light to peruse gutted rooms. In some parts the walls had crumbled in a haphazard fashion, defeated by wind and rain.

"That sounds about right," the Doctor agreed. "This is the empty shell, the husk of a building, where dead men still whisper." The walls were cracking with age. There was a sadness here, Illyria felt it creep like a poison through her.

"More riddles," she said. The little man loved his little riddles and his pathetic games.

"Not this time," he answered. "Here the shadows have stories to tell. Maybe, if you're polite they'll tell you. Now hush, I have to concentrate." Illyria tilted her head listening. The Timelord was right. She could hear faint whispers in the shadows, the echoes of ancient screams…and something else. Her head snapped up in shock.

"It lives," she said.

"That's what I said," he snapped impatiently. Illyria turned, a retort already half formed, but his eyes were closed. The Doctor was already reaching out with his mind. Illyria left him and went to the window. It was a gray world, boxed in, compartmentalized, so claustrophobic, so empty. All across the globe, from one end to the other, there was only silence. Empty forests, empty streets, empty rivers, and empty streams. Just buildings, crumbling slowly into dust. A whole world dead, but not gone, after all there were still the shadows. There were voices murmuring in the shadows. So many voices, a word of voices. Illyria could hear their death cries. A whole world massacred leaving the husks of their souls to inhabit the dark places of one single building. Curiosity drove her insistent probing and Illyria reached out to touch the darkness with her mind. The world shifted around her. Color seeped in slowly. Hearing the Doctor's voice she turned.

The Doctor was arguing with someone who wasn't there. Illyria tilted her head. No, that wasn't quite true. He was surrounded by incandescent shapes, flickering softly almost invisible.

"I have come a long way for this, you know," he said softly. "It is a simple request."

"You know it is not simple," the figures said, their voices merged as one. "The one you seek is locked deep in the bowls of the collective mind, as you suggested."

"Yes, yes, I'm so glad you took my advice so readily. Now would be the time to do so again. Take me to him. I'll ask him a few questions; he'll growl and posture before answering me, then me and my friend will be off. There, you see, it's all very simple, really."

"Such a meeting, would put the entire collective at risk," the figures circled him.

"Not for much longer," the Doctor muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Timelord?"

"You should have more faith then that. He will not slip past me. After all," the Doctor said. "I trapped him in the first place."

"We are aware, Timelord. You captured him, and ripped him from his body. Brought his spirit to us for safe keeping, but we know you better than you think. It was useful then to have him out of the way, it may be useful now for you to free him."

"You dare," the Doctor's eyes flashed. "You dare accuse me…"

"Peace Timelord, we only sought to make a point."

Beside Illyria a shape was forming. It danced and shimmered in the light, before it became solid, before it became familiar. Illyria's gaze slid over the new-formed figure slowly. She took in the smell of whisky, the stubble, the light pink scar running across the neck.

"You're not Wesley," Illyria stated.

Not-Wesley nodded. "And you are not Winifred Burkle. What a fine pair we must make."

"Identify yourself," Illyria commanded.

"I am the Unity of the Conscience, who speaks with the voice of all the dead. We thought this form would be more pleasing."

"I do not find the forms of lower beings pleasing, nor would I prefer one above any other. You are a clumsy abstraction forced to exist only on the astral plane." Illyria paused briefly and examined the Unity more closely. "Your form is clouded on the edges. The illusion is imperfect."

"You see a great deal," the Unity said. It was Wesley's voice although forced and rough. "Tell me then, if forms have no meaning on the astral plane, then in theory you could appear as you did in your time of glory."

"Such an illusion would be simple."

"Yet you chose to remain I the form of the…shell. Why is that Illyria?" Their eyes met. Illyria glanced away first. Her eyes fell upon the Doctor still arguing with his ghostly companions.

"Why do you not grant the Doctor his request?"

"It was granted the moment he arrived. We owe the Doctor too much to refuse. Nevertheless, it does not hurt to call his motives into question. For example, what does he want with an Old One, who should be buried in the Deeper Well a hundred thousand light years from here? The last time the Doctor was here he brought as a companion, a young woman very fond of poisoned thorns. Now he comes to speak with the murderer, and is accompanied by one of the most feared demons in all of time and space."

"You are posturing," Illyria said.

"Yes, and you are avoiding questions."

The Doctor slowly crept down the stairs into the cellar. Convincing the Unity had taken longer than anticipated. He checked his watch and hoped it hadn't taken too long. It was dark in the cellar and cold. The Doctor clutched his metaphysical lantern a little tighter.

"Who brings a light into my darkness," asked a voice in the gloom. The Doctor held the light up.

"You're looking good for a dead man," the Doctor said taking in his opponent. He was shackled to the wall, hanging suspended by his wrists. The Doctor glanced around at the torture equipment arranged on a table. "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," he muttered.

"Doctor, is that you? What do you want with me?"

The Doctor went over and placed the lantern on the table. He reached and absently turned the thumbscrews over in his hands, right to left, to right to left. "I just want to talk," the Doctor said. He turned and smiled darkly.

"To talk," the prisoner said, eyeing the thumbscrews.

"To talk," the Doctor confirmed.

"Then pull up a chair," the prisoner smiled. "and we'll chat you and I, murderer to murderer."


	3. Whispers

"It must be terrible," the Unity said. "made little more than weak flesh, powerless," he whispered in Illyria's ear. "cast adrift in a universe that passed you by."

"I have power enough," Illyria answered.

"Yes, the so-called power of choice," the Unity chuckled. "How much choice do you really have with the Timelord? You prance around the universe taking care of his unfinished business, and he has an awful lot of that, doesn't he? Maybe you're just another piece of the puzzle he hasn't solved yet. After all what is it they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

Illyria tilted her head considering the Unity's words. "Bleat no more," she said. "I care not for the ramblings of a mere echo." The Unity just smiled a Not-Wesley smile.

"Death is an art," the murderer was saying. "and like any other art it has many different mediums. Mine was more honest, more pure then yours, Doctor. Yet we are both murderers."

" I have done many things I am not proud of, but murder is not one of them."

"No? Wherever you go, a trail of bodies follows, your one true companion. How many megalomaniacs lie six feet under, because they picked a fight with you? It is only a difference of M's: method and motivation. But now you want to talk. I'm all aquiver with curiosity. Whatever could you want with little old me?"

The Doctor regarded him, as though grading a performance. He let the silence linger for a long tortuous moment. "I want information," the Doctor said at length. "information…"

"You won't get it," the murderer said.

"Yes I will," the Doctor said, resting his chin on the umbrella.

"What you going to do, torture me?" The murderer's mouth curled into a mocking smile. The Doctor turned slightly to peer back at the table. The instruments of torture sat there innocently, perfectly arranged. Somehow in the dim light, they gleamed. The murderer's smile faded.

"I was going to offer a trade, but if you prefer torture…" the Doctor trailed off meaningfully. The murderer shifted uncomfortably in his manacles.

"What can you trade with me?"

"Your life," the Doctor answered.

"Careful Doctor, you're going senile in your old age. I'm dead, remember. Last I checked, the dead aren't exactly up and about."

"No," the Doctor agreed. "but it can be arranged." He consulted his pocket watch, then looked up to meet the murderer's eyes. "In one hour, this star is going to go supernova, and every planet, every moon, every piece of cosmic flotsam and jetsam in the system will be utterly annihilated." The Doctor paused to let that sink in. "The Unity of the Conscience and every mind it contains will come to a final end. Give me the information I want, and I will save you, time tot's honor."

The murderer paused, but only for a moment. "What do you want to know?"

All the Doctor said was "The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart," but then, that was all he needed to say.

"Our world died," the Unity said. "great asteroids came screaming from the sky and brought the plague upon their backs. Brutal agony gave way at last to death. More then merely physical, the plague ripped out our souls, and left our carcasses to fade into dust. That was how they Doctor found us. An old man then, he was too late to save us. Instead he carved out a small piece in the astral plane and brought us here. You understand, don't you Illyria. Your world is lost too. Unlike us, you've been replaced by that crafty ape called…man," the Unity seemed pleased that it had found the right word

"The world crawls with upstart bipeds, strutting with an arrogance only possible through their ignorance. I would have crushed them like vermin. What beautiful squealing they would have made. But it matters not. My world is long gone. It would have been best if had I remained in my eternal slumber but that choice was not mine."

"Choices are illusions. We did not choose this end. If we had the power of choice, then my kind would not have been the victims of genocide. "

Illyria cocked her head, suddenly curious. "What purpose did your death's serve?"

"Our race had not yet developed space travel," the Unity said. "nor come into contact with an alien race. We were a virgin species, a virgin sacrifice." There was a familiar irony in the Unity's borrowed voice. For a moment it sounded exactly like Wesley. "The power generated by the sacrifice of billions must have been enormous, but to what end, we can not tell."

"Who performed this sacrifice?"

"You tell me, demon."

Illyria paused for a moment to think. There were very few powers abroad in the universe who could orchestrate such destruction. In fact she could think of but one. "They broke me," she said. "humiliated me, and caused me to feel…grief." The word seemed distasteful in Illyria's mouth. "In my time of greatness they cowered at my feet, all three of them." Illyria's eyes blazed with such a fury that the Unity had to look away.

"Thank you," the Doctor said. "that was most helpful." He got up and slowly walked back to the table.

"Wolfram and Hart is too strong. No one can beat them, not even for you."

The Doctor turned and regarded the murderer. Beneath that cold poker face, the murderer could see a storm coming. It was something about the eyes. "Someone has to try," the Doctor muttered. Then snatching up his lantern, he made his way to the stairs.

Suddenly frightened the murderer called out. "Doctor! What about me?"

The Doctor paused at the foot of the stairs but didn't turn. In the gloom the murderer could only see a silhouette of the little man, outlined by the weak light from the lantern. "I can't save you," the Doctor said. "You're already dead."

The murderer could hear the clang of feet, as the Doctor climbed the steps. The light became fainter and fainter, as it disappeared up into the dark. "You promised," the murderer cried. "You promised!" Nothing. There was only silence. The murderer sagged into his chains.

Then at last, as if from a long way away came the Doctor's reply. "I lied," he said, not gloating, not victorious, just matter-of-fact. "I lied." There was a decisive bang and the cellar door slammed shut. The murderer was alone with the black, and the knowledge that it would be getting much brighter, very, very soon.

The Doctor sighed and returned his watch to his waistcoat. 15 minutes was cutting it close. "All right children," he called. "playtime's over." Illyria turned away from…Wesley…no the Unity, and gazed at the Doctor imperiously.

"I know what came to pass," she said ignoring the Doctor.

"See what happens, when you play nice with the other little girls and boys?"

Illyria glared. "What advantage did they gain from this sacrifice?"

"Power mostly," the Doctor answered. 'but now we really need to be going."

"Why such urgency, Timelord?"

"Because our sun is about to explode," the Unity said.

The Doctor's face became suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said. "There's nothing I can do."

"No," the Unity agreed. "This was always to be our fate. We have been preparing for centuries."

The Doctor tipped his hat. There was sorrow in his eyes. Then the world was gray again, and the Unity vanished into the shadows.

"Now what," Illyria asked.

"Now we reenact an old tradition."

"What would that be, Timelord?"

The Doctor reached over and grabbed her hand. "We run," he answered, and they ran.

The Unity of the Conscience reached out and felt the Tardis disappear into the Vortex and was glad. The Wolf Ram and Hart were strong, but so were the Timelord and the Old One. Perhaps they would triumph. Time would tell. The Unity took a deep metaphorical breath and made its way through the myriad of individuals. Yes, they were ready. Time to relinquish the uncertainty of the shadows for the comfort of death. The Unity smiled a Not-Wesley smile, and then there was light.


End file.
